


Then, and Now.

by Desdimonda



Series: Broken Steps on the Broken Isles - Drabbles and vignettes about Maiev, Illidan and their relationship beneath the shadow of the Legion's invasion on Azeroth and beyond. [13]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: 1/???, F/M, Illidan's past, Khadgar's awkward dinner parties, Maiev's past, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: Anonymous sent me the following ask -Illidan and Maiev talking about the events following the Black Temple. Her carrying him and why she did it. Bonus points if it's a forced dinner. I mea, Khadgar.And I wrote this.





	Then, and Now.

“Pass the bread,” said Desdimonda to Illidan, her leg resting on his hoof, armour shed in favour of thin linen despite the cold air. 

Illidan stared at the Deathlord, the cold chill of her presence emanating profoundly the more she sat on the ground, tucked between the legs of a Kaldorei male, who seemed so at peace with her, by her. 

“I thought you didn’t eat,” he said, slowly handing her a haunch of bread.

“And we all thought you were the bad guy,” she said, snatching it from his hands, smiling. “Times change.”

Maiev snorted a laugh at the Deathlord, picking away at her bowl of stew, her wedge of bread sodden with gravy. 

Khadgar was refilling his bowl uneasily, trying to find something to say. Maybe - maybe this hadn’t been the best of ideas. A Legionfall dinner at Deliverance point; campfire, casual, with each of the representatives of the orders. Issari - the Slayer - was at his side, unable to take her eyes off of Desdimonda, and she hadn’t ate a thing. Was she shaking?

“Khadgar, you’re spilling good food,” said Desdi, pointing her bare toes towards Khadgar’s bowl.

“Good, might be questionable,” muttered Illidan as he stared at the empty bowl in his lap.

“Same could be said about you,” said Desdi, her words ending in a laugh. “Certainly had a good old time Lording it up in Outland.”

Issari tensed; the Kaldorei at Desdi’s back nudged her with his knee. 

“And what would you know? You couldn’t even sniff unless Arthas said so,” he said, pushing her foot off his hoof.

Crumbs of crust, of bread, fell to the ground as Desdi squeezed the haunch between her hand. 

“Desdi-” began Issari, half rising from her spot around the fire, nestled atop a log, a thick fur beneath her thighs. But a kind hand pulled her back down, his silvery eyes wide with concern. 

“Shame you kept him as a keepsake after the Black Temple, Maiev,” said Desdi, pushing away from her companion and rising to her feet. “I’d have burned him.”

Khadgar cleared his throat, attempting to talk. But everyone ignored him.

Illidan stared at the fire, sightless eyes uncovered, bared. He felt the Deathlord’s presence, leave. Her icy aura, dimmed, but her words lingered. Issari was near in pieces. He could feel the aura of his Slayer tremble as the Kaldorei at her side held her close, whispering small words against her ear.

Everyone had someone, but him.

“Why did you, Maiev?” he asked, suddenly, surprising himself. It had been obvious - to bind his body, his soul, away, away - as if he were gasping for that last breath as your drowned; as your fingertips grazed the earth as you reached for a hold as you fell, the whisper of death, just _there_. 

But she had kept him, just there. 

“You could have just walked away; you could have burned me; you could have given up,” he said, his words quiet, just for her. But he knew everyone listened; everyone stared.

Maiev stared at her spoon, watching the drop, drop of broth fall to her bowl. Her heart, was too loud. The fire, was too bright. His words, _hurt_.

She dropped the spoon.

“Don’t you remember what you said to me, before your last breath?” she said, staring at the spoon by her feet, the broth spilling over her bare toes.

Illidan turned to face her, slowly, his long back hair was down, pulled free from his high tail, and it fell forward, slipping against bare shoulders. Issari had helped him wash it earlier - she had insisted. 

And he had to remind himself to _breathe_.

The night helped him see clearer; Elune caressing everything, everyone - _her_ \- with her breath. For so long, he had held tightly the image of Warden; Watcher; Jailer. Huntress - and he, the hunt. 

But now all he saw, was Maiev.

She closed her eyes, long lashes shimmering like a wisp of arcane. “You are nothing-”

“Without me,” whispered Illidan.

He watched, as she held onto the bowl, her knuckles turning white; as her chest rose, and fell, trembling as she breathed deeply, desperately. 

“You knew me better than _me,”_ she said, her words tilted, shaken. “And I wanted nothing more than for you to be wrong.” She turned, bravely, catching his fel green eyes. She remembered when they were gold. “You weren’t.”

“And now?” he asked, wondering if her skin still blushed rose. 

Maiev looked away, but she shuffled her foot along the grass, toes twisting the long, green blades until it touched his hoof.


End file.
